


make an assumption

by writing_way_too_much



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of alcohol, The christmas scene, mild swearing, set during asib
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_way_too_much/pseuds/writing_way_too_much
Summary: "Lestrade knows he's probably overstayed his welcome. It's late. Everyone except himself has left. John's gone to bed. Mrs. Hudson went downstairs long ago.But Lestrade's still here, sipping on wine, not wanting to leave for some reason."Lestrade stays at 221b Baker Street longer than everyone else after the Christmas party.





	make an assumption

**Author's Note:**

> who's to say this didn't actually happen? we don't see the ending of the christmas party. (hehehehe)

Lestrade knows he's probably overstayed his welcome. It's late. Everyone except himself has left. John's gone to bed. Mrs. Hudson went downstairs long ago.

But Lestrade's still here, sipping on wine, not wanting to leave for some reason.

"You know how I said your wife was sleeping with a PE teacher?"

Sherlock's voice startles him out of his messy thoughts, which were just a tangle of confused emotions anyway. Unimportant. "Vividly."

"Text her and accuse her of it, because if you try to confront her tomorrow with the hangover you're aiming for, it'll just be embarrassing."

Lestrade wants to complain but simply pulls out his mobile and holds it in Sherlock's general direction. He knows Sherlock is right.

Sherlock takes it out of his hand.

Half an hour later, Lestrade is not going to try and reconcile with his wife the next day.

Sherlock moves back over to his chair and starts scrolling on his laptop.

"What're you reading?" Lestrade asks, tired of the silence that's been weighing down on the room.

"John's blog."

Lestrade snorts. "Thought you were the only person in London who didn't read it."

"I'm reading it right now, therefore your statement is wrong."

Lestrade puts his head in his hands. Why does he hang around Sherlock, when the man is this infuriating? He always feels wrong-footed in one way or another.

The answer bubbles up in the back of his mind, but he firmly pushes it down. He won't acknowledge it, and maybe it'll go away.

"Fine," he concedes after a too-long silence. Sherlock gives him a critical look and then crosses the room, taking the wine out of Lestrade's hand.

"You don't need any more of that," he says, depositing the glass by the sink, and Lestrade agrees. He's already going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning.

Instead of going back to his laptop, Sherlock settles in on the couch next to Lestrade, who is now fighting to stay awake. Lestrade doesn't question it, just lets it happen and hopes that eventually Sherlock will leave so that all of these strange thoughts can flow through Lestrade's mind without Sherlock deducing them.

"You're thinking about me."

"I'm past asking how you know," Lestrade says in lieu of an answer.

Sherlock grins and picks up Lestrade's hand, squeezes three times, and then darts into the kitchen and stares very intensely at his microscope.

_ What the hell? _

Lestrade doesn't bother trying to hide that he's staring at Sherlock. Hunched over the microscope, Sherlock can't see Lestrade, so Lestrade takes full advantage of this opportunity.

Sherlock whirls around suddenly. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"That thing you're doing. It's distracting."

"I wasn't doing anything!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and moves yet again, this time to his chair. He can't seem to sit still, although that's not unusual.

"You were staring," he says after another long pause.

"So what if I was?" Lestrade feels like fighting. There's a thought in the back of his head that he's desperately ignoring. If he's focusing on arguing, he doesn't have to think about it.

"As I previously stated, it's distracting."

Sherlock turns so that he's facing Lestrade and stares at him very intensely.

Lestrade meets the glare head-on for a few moments, then glances away.

"See?"

Sherlock's voice is low and quiet. Lestrade has to lean forward to hear him properly.

"Yeah, that's pretty distracting," Lestrade manages. He knows that Sherlock is most likely proving a point, that it means nothing, but there's still a faint glimmer of hope that he's trying to stifle.

Sherlock grins, and Lestrade digs his nails into his palms. His true smile is adorable, a strange contradiction to the rest of Sherlock's usually brash character.

Lestrade tries to take a deep breath, but the best he's capable of is shallow.

Sherlock tilts his head inquisitively at Lestrade.

"You've got your deducting face on," Lestrade says.

"I have a deducting face?"

"Yeah. Look in the mirror."

Sherlock does, squints, shakes his head. "Don't see it."

"What were you deducting?"

"You."

The reply is so short and honest that Lestrade blinks. "Me? I thought you'd already worked out my whole life story."

"Well..." Sherlock hedges, twisting his hands. "Sort of."

Lestrade has never been this surprised, and he's seen a lot of surprising things. "So what do you still need?"

"I--uh--"

Lestrade has never heard Sherlock stutter, and he sits up a tad bit straighter. "You never stutter."

"I've never had reason to before."

"Then what--"

Sherlock lightly runs his tongue around his lips and  _ oh _ .

Lestrade may not be a genius like Sherlock, but anyone could figure this out.

"Is that why you wanted me to tell my wife I knew she was cheating?" Lestrade guesses.

"I wanted to spare you the heartbreak of finding out for yourself. Don't hold me in such high regards, Lestrade." But Sherlock's losing ground here and Lestrade can tell. He's shown weakness and is desperately trying to make up for it.

"Why shouldn't I?" Lestrade challenges.

"My motivation behind all that--" Sherlock gestures to Lestrade's mobile "--was purely selfish."

"Go on," Lestrade whispers. "Nothing wrong with selfish."

Somehow, they've both stood up and crossed the room to the center without Lestrade noticing. Lestrade is close enough to Sherlock that it's child's play to tell how nervous he is.

"Do you want me to continue?" Sherlock asks, tapping his fingers on his thigh. "I mean, I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with or, or, make assumptions--"

"Your entire career is based off of assumptions," Lestrade points out. "Make one."

Sherlock nods twice, appears to prepare himself, leans forward.

They're only millimeters away when Sherlock stops.

"What is it?" Lestrade asks, concerned.

"I, just, well."

Dimly, Lestrade thinks that he's been able to make Sherlock stutter twice and that that's an accomplishment worth more than all the money in the world. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Are you sure?"

In response, Lestrade closes the final gap between them, cupping Sherlock's face, capturing Sherlock's lips with his own.

Sherlock's scared, that much is obvious. He's barely kissing Lestrade back, and his hands are twisting at his sides.

"What...what do I do with my hands?" Sherlock gasps when Lestrade pulls back to allow him to breathe.

Lestrade puts Sherlock's hands on his hips. He can't resist running one of his own hands through Sherlock's curls, and he's still got the other cupping Sherlock's chin.

"Ready?" he asks, and doesn't wait for an answer before kissing the detective again.

There's a shuffling noise from the hallway and Sherlock goes to pull away, but Lestrade tightens his grip. "Stay here, sunshine," he mutters against Sherlock's lips.

"Called it," John says, going into the kitchen. "You two were shooting each other sideways glances all night. The sexual tension was just about killing me."

He starts preparing tea.

Sherlock laughs.

"Happy Christmas," Lestrade says, and Sherlock smiles at him.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated :)
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @bestfluteninja where this is also posted


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